In my former life as a receptionist I learned a lot about people. I learned that the more power they hold in a company, the nicer they are to the little people. Maybe they can afford to be generous with compliments and courtesy- they have time, and no one is going to tell them to hurry up and get more important things done.

I spent a lot of time entertaining. Or, as I liked to say, Receptioning. It's an art form of the sort practiced by courtesans and other professional hostesses, only without the sex. When someone walks into your lobby, smile brightly. Welcome them. Make them feel as though you've been waiting all day for the chance to serve them. Even if the phone's ringing constantly. Make eye contact as if to say it telepathically. A good receptionist implies her willingness to serve and please in her body language as well as her tone of voice.

Hmm. Maybe we're not so different from sex workers after all. Though I believe that they get paid better. And have some degree of choice over which clients they service.

It's a matter of pride for me that there were only a few individuals and situation that I couldn't cope with. For the most part, though, I was practically perfect --Once I got my feet under me. By the time I left my last position to become a mommy, I came to the conclusion that I was a Mary Poppins figure.

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For the past year that seems to be how my work life was. One mess after another. Filing nightmares. Staffing nightmares through chance and not design/poor management. Finally a much loved receptionist with sudden illness- and all any of these places needed, really, was someone to hold their hand and answer phones. Reassurance does not come cheap. I've seen both my paystub and what my employers have paid for me. It is very empowering to realize that the same people who don't trust you to wipe your nose without instructions are the same people who trust you with opening their mail.

But by and large I have to say I've never felt it as rewarding as when I see the look of gratitude in their eyes when I tell them that it's okay. That I'll be back on Monday. That until they're ready I'll keep coming back. That someone will be there, come hell or high water, to answer the phone at 0800.

I guess I'm ready for motherhood after all.